Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7

 

~ Part 7~

Bill reloaded his pistol with nimble fingers. His ears told him he had time yet. The mermaid wasn’t done with Rudy.

Jack sagged beside him, breathing too fast. “Downey,” he rasped. “Is he--”

“Don’t know.” He tapped out his powder, grimacing. The air in the hold was thick and dank, so humid it felt as if he could reach out and wring water from it if he squeezed hard enough. Bad air for a gun to be the last thing between him and her.

Finished, Bill hefted the pistol, sucking his lower lip between his teeth. It had fired all right once. Might be fine once more. Might be.

She was too fast for might be.

Bill weighed the weapon in his hands, feeling the bite of the corner of a crate between his shoulder blades.

There was no screaming now. Just a low, wet gurgling that came and went in fits and starts, unable to be the sound it was trying to be.

He didn’t trust the gun. A gun was a fickle thing. Powder could be damp. Shot misshapen.

Decided, Bill laid the pistol aside, on the planking between him and Jack, and drew the machete.

A gun would have let him kill from a distance. He would have to get close with the blade. But it would do what he wanted; blades always did. It wouldn’t make any mistakes if he didn’t.

The dull gleam of metal caught Bill’s eye then, and he reached out to run his fingertips along the inside of the cuff of a set of shackles, half spilling out of a barrel no one had bothered to cover before its transport from the Charybdis. Someone had shoved odds and ends from the other vessel’s skipper’s quarters into the nearest empty container during the salvage, and among those had been several sets of manacles.

Bill’s mouth twitched up at the corners in a grim smile.

He’d have to get close. But that had always been where he’d done his best work.

…………………………….

Jack’s eyes were on Bill as he stepped out from behind the wall of cargo, but the mermaid’s were not. Her hair was a sodden curtain over her lowered face. Her attention was all on the body quivering beneath her, and the mottled skin of her back might have made a tempting target if Bill hadn’t known her speed. He needed to put her teeth where he wanted them, first.

The cuff of the shackles was cool on his wrist, the chain coiled ‘round his arm almost to the elbow, the second heavy bracelet held between his arm and his body. The hilt of the cane field blade filled his hand, warm and waiting.

“Go, Jack!” Bill ordered, and it snapped the creature’s face up towards him, as movement in his peripheral vision told him Jack was slipping away, navigating a route through the hold that would avoid the space that Bill and the mermaid now watched each other across.

She pushed herself up on her hands, the trunk of her body braced above the floor in a crouch, and crawled over Rudolphs, whose head lolled in Bill’s direction as her weight dragged at him. His remaining eye blinked once, and there was a rasp of sound that might have been a last try at speech, before the mermaid blocked Bill’s view of him entirely.

One slow, steadying breath, then two, then three, and the thing crawling towards him halted, weight on her hands, her tail curling up over her back, her devil eyes unblinking, a limp red scrap of what might or might not have been cloth caught in her teeth and clinging to her chin. She watched him, a snarl pulling at her lips, but she waited there, not moving any closer.

Bill didn’t want her waiting. “Why so shy now, my girl?”

The barbs of her fins twitched at his voice.

“Come over here and have a proper hello,” Bill growled, and half-lunged, checking the movement almost instantly.

The mermaid jolted and bared more teeth, a crocodilian hiss issuing from between them.

“No? Why not? Not feelin’ social?” He half-lunged again, and again, reaction snapped sharply through her body, but not the kind he was looking for. “Not hungry?” This time the lunge came with a swift slash of the machete through the air between them, and the mermaid came off her hands and out of her crouch, still hunched low, but starting to sway.

“Aye, you’re a mean one, ain’t you, madam?” Bill muttered, rocking with the Beacon’s movement as the ship danced with the squall. “But I’m meaner.”

Her tail coiled behind her, and she drew back, the movement like the drawing of a bowstring, the clawed fingers of one hand flexing in the air as the other reached down towards the planking for a place to brace itself. Bill took in every motion, every preparation, keeping his eyes on hers as he deepened his stance and tightened his grip on the hilt.

She screamed at him, if it could be called screaming; a sound that belonged more in hell than on earth, that split the air and seemed sharp enough to draw blood on its own, and Bill was moving before the ice it left in his veins could stop him, stepping forward to close the distance between them if she wouldn’t.

“Bring it over here, you fuckin’ slag!” he screamed back.

She came like a wave, relentless and rolling, and Bill swung the blade, swung it low, driving her up to avoid its arc, bringing them nearly eye-to-eye. His left arm was moving as she struck, and when her teeth tried for his throat they found the metal links of the chain instead, the shackle cuff shielding the tendons and blood vessels of his wrist. Bill spun them as she latched on, the force of her strike lending momentum to the movement, bearing her down and bringing the blade up, feeling fire spread through his shoulder as she tried her best to savage his arm through the chain and could only wrench at him with a strength that would dislocate the limb if she kept at it long enough. He aimed for her belly, but her tail had suddenly twisted back on itself and blocked the blade. Her claws raked across his ribs, his baldric taking most of the damage, but not all, and Bill hissed as blood colored the side of his shirt.

Then he planted his feet and shoved back against her weight, driving his chain-wrapped arm farther into the jaws that gripped it and slamming the mermaid’s head back into the nearest crate. Still she held on, her pale eyes burning into his from only inches away, and with gritted teeth, Bill drew her up and slammed her head back again, and again, twisting the machete against the leathery folds of her fins, feeling her barbs scrape furrows over his hand in her attempts to deflect the blade. Then something let loose and the machete slipped forward, sliced through, and half of that lethal fan of fins suddenly hung limp. She did release him then, screaming in pain and fury, and Bill hit her across the face with his shackled arm, scattering teeth stained with two colors of blood across the planking. She went down, catching herself with both hands and pushing herself up again, and quick as she was, by the time she lifted her face, dripping her own black blood from her mangled mouth, Bill had already unwound the manacle and caught the chain in his left hand, whipping the empty metal cuff towards her. The blow caught her across the cheek with force enough to shatter bone and kill a man, but through her screams changed pitch and grew more frenzied, she swayed and righted herself, and Bill swung the chain again, laying her scalp open, the machete following. She lashed out and sliced open his arm as it came for her, just above the elbow, but the strike earned her a deep cut across her collarbone. She dropped to the deck, writhing like a worm someone had scuffed his boot over, pawing at her blood-blinded eyes and clutching at the laceration that left her ichor-slick down her front.

Bill’s sharp cry of pain still hung in the hold, and he clamped a hand to the wound at the back of his arm; he’d felt her talons scrape bone, and his sleeve was soaked even before he took the hand away. She had missed muscle and tendon, though, and his grip on the machete didn’t falter as he turned back for another pass, pain a white glare at the edge of his vision, a heat that he refused to allow to steal his breath.

…………………………..

The cry snapped Jack’s head up, his hands freezing on the ends of the tourniquet he’d bound just above the ragged bite on Downey’s knee.

“I said get gone, Sparrow,” Downey hissed, slumped nearly flat on his back. “You ain’t goin’ to have time to get us both out of here if she’s winnin’.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Jack stared at Downey, pale and stricken, and the injured man shook his head.

“Don’t you even bleedin’ think about—Sparrow!” It was a frantic whisper. “Get back here!”

………………………….

Bill steadied himself, breathing deep, and down the length of the blade he watched the mermaid, circling her as she did him, slithering low on hands and tail, but always with her eyes on him.

Pissed off now, aren’t you? His arm sang out in agony, his sleeve sticking heavily to his skin, his own blood warm between his hand and the hilt of the machete. I know the feeling. He caught up the links of the chain once more, and set it to steady circles in the air in front of him. The mermaid’s gaze moved to follow it, and Bill’s lip curled up.

“Aye, that smarted, didn’t it, you slimy bitch?”

She darted for him almost too fast for him to follow, coming in low, at his legs, and with a barked curse Bill dropped into a crouch and met her with the blade, slashing, forcing her to twist back to avoid it. He stumbled coming out of the position, losing seconds, as the mermaid reared up, and the moment he realized he couldn’t gain his feet ahead of her, he didn’t try, instead falling back to let her come to him, the wicked blade held ready for the lunge that would put her on top of him and drive it deep.

The shout that held the mermaid in check at her full height was not part of the plan, and Bill’s stomach turned over in horror as she whirled from him to face Jack, who stood perhaps ten paces behind her, a knife in one hand, Bill’s pistol in the other, eyes wide and jaw set. “No, Jack!” Bill shouted hoarsely, but she was already moving. Bill rocked up to his feet and lunged for her, but she was too far away, and it was a sloppy, rushed attempt. He overreached, throwing his balance off, and when the Beacon plunged down hard into a deep trough, he was flung headfirst against a water barrel.

The world shot off sparks for a moment, then dropped him into darkness.
………………………….

Jack backed away, not sure if he was fleeing the mangled monster crawling towards him or luring her away from Bill. Bill, who was alive, but out cold, spilled limp on the deck behind the mermaid who was bleeding, but not heavily enough.

Get up, Bill, Jack pleaded silently. Get up, get up, get up.

She was half-blind, and off-balance. But she was still stronger than him, still faster.

Bill hadn’t trusted the gun. Jack didn’t have faith in the knife. Not when she had a mouthful of them.

No movement from behind her, and no time left to wish for it.

The mermaid threw herself at him, and the pitching of the Beacon hurled him off his feet, knocking the air from his lungs and the pistol from his hand when he went down – but also tossing him out of the space the mermaid’s strike took her to. Jack didn’t bother to aim, he just stabbed at the thrashing bulk beside him, and the mermaid screamed as he sliced open her side. He rolled onto his belly and dragged himself away from her, and towards the gun.

Talons raked the sole of his boot as the mermaid grabbed at him, and Jack pushed himself onto his hands and knees and kicked back without looking, his heel clipping her chin. She yanked one leg out from under him as he crawled and he went down hard on his stomach, hitting his face on the deck and bloodying his bottom lip. He strained for the pistol, its butt cold under his fingertips, and then the mermaid’s clawed hands closed tight around his ankle and dragged him back to her, crawling up his body as he twisted onto his back.

Her eyes and teeth were all Jack could see as her weight came down on him, and he shoved the barrel of the gun under her chin.

“Give us a kiss, love,” he gasped out, and pulled the trigger.

…………………………..

A roar filled Bill’s head as he came back to himself, his hand groping across the deck and closing on his weapon.

Machete.

Mermaid.

Jack.

“Jack!” he shouted, dragging himself upright. The world spun, trying its best to keep him where he was. Bill took a deep breath and told gravity to piss off, squinting through the spots that swirled in his vision.

Those spots scattered when he saw the dark length of the mermaid’s tail flanked by two familiar legs. “Jack!” he bellowed, and took off at a staggering run, which ended in a stumbling stop. “Jack?”

The mermaid was, without question, dead. If the utter limpness of her body hadn’t betrayed as much, the fact that the back of her head was missing would have.

An arm appeared from beneath the mermaid’s corpse and tossed aside Bill’s pistol. Its mate wriggled out on the opposite side and pushed gingerly at her shoulder. “As long as you’re up, I could do with a bit of help, mate,” came a shaken voice.

Bill sank down onto one knee and grasped the mermaid’s shoulders, heaving her up and allowing Jack to extract himself, dabbing optimistically at his face with his sleeve. “You all right, Bill?” he asked.

Bill nodded, looking from Jack to the mermaid, whose head hung on her neck like a hood on a cloak. He shoved her over to flop in a wet, heavy heap on the deck. “I’ll live. You?”

Jack had started to push his hair out of his face, then grimaced and drew his fingers away very, very carefully. “I have pieces of her head in my hair, don’t I?”

Bill pulled a face. “Well…”

“Oh, God.”

“Good news is, it’s still rainin’.” Bill cast another long glance at the mermaid’s body, then grinned, sagging back against a coil of rope. “Ruined her evening, didn’t you, lad?”

Jack stared at the corpse for a long moment, then gave a small nod. “Yes I did.”

“Those of us who’re bleedin’ to death wouldn’t mind gettin’ out of this Jove-cursed shithole, if anyone who can still walk gives a cheap fast fuck,” Downey’s voice rang out from somewhere nearby.

Bill turned with surprise towards the voice, and raised his eyebrows at Jack, who wagged a thumb over his shoulder in Downey’s direction. “He’s not dead.”

“Today, you bastards!”

“Speaking of bleeding, you’re doin’ a spectacular job of it yourself,” Jack observed worriedly, reaching for Bill’s arm.

“I am, aren’t I?” Bill agreed, peeling his sleeve away from the injury. “It’ll go nicely with the bite scar, anyway.”

Drawing his remaining knife, Jack began to slice the sleeve open. “You’re goin’ to run out of shirts, Bill.”

Jack was just tying off his second tourniquet of the night when the thump of boots sounded from above, and Yearwood descended the ladder, gun in hand and a scowl on his face, followed by Josef Sweeney. The captain’s scowl soured further as he took in Jack and Bill, and threatened to cleave the wrinkled in face in two when it came to rest on the mermaid. Walking slowly over to the dark, reeking tangle of limbs and tail, Yearwood hooked a foot beneath her torso and kicked her onto her back.

“What in the name of God is this?” he demanded after a moment’s shocked silence.

“That’d be your shark, Captain,” Bill replied dryly, and had the satisfaction of seeing Yearwood utterly speechless. He nodded his head in Jack’s direction. “Mister Sparrow here took care of her for us.”

Yearwood looked from the hideous corpse at his feet, to the gore-spattered boy at Bill’s side, and finally to his quartermaster’s smug smile. His canny blue eyes narrowed, and he moved to stand over Jack. “You’ve had a busy night, boy.”

“Yes, sir.” Jack got to his feet and reached down to help Bill to his, and turned a solemn look on the semi-headless dead sea monster leaking black blood in the middle of the hold. “And I don’t care if I am the new man on. I’m not cleaning that up.”

…………………………….

They gave Parks, Hennesee, and Rudolphs to the sea the next morning.

Jack retreated to his hammock immediately after the burials, and he was still there when Tortuga appeared on the horizon late in the day, his sleep deep and dreamless. The remains of the thing he’d killed in the bottom of the Northern Beacon had been bound up in burlap and tossed overboard in the night. Before he’d overseen the disposal of the mermaid’s body, however, Josef Sweeney had, on Bill Turner’s instructions, cut one of the wicked spines from her tail and brought it to the quartermaster, who diligently cleaned it and hung it by a leather tie from the main mast to dry and bleach.

It would make a fine trophy for a new pirate.

 

~ End ~